Gabriel's Stand (10 page)

It was a blustery February day outside the Fowler Building in downtown Seattle. Vince Marconi looked up from his carrel in the law firm's library.

“Looks like someone in the Justice Department wants to recruit you,” said Jimmy, a fellow clerk in the law firm of Price, Farthwell, and Longworthy.

“Me?” Vince said.

“No kidding,” Jimmy said. “Here is the card.”

“Where did you get this?”

“My uncle works for the Bureau.”

“The FBI?”

“Yes. He was reassigned to a special project. I talked you up, your connections with the movement, your interest in the big issues. Just call, okay?”

“Thanks. I think I will.”

——

The meeting was after hours in the business district. “Thank you for coming,” said Agent Arnold Wang. Vincent thought everything about this meeting was cool. Mr. Wang was a man in his forties, unremarkable except for the fine scar on his chin and the bulge under his jacket. They were alone in a coffee shop downtown just before closing time. “Actually I am on leave from Justice, currently working with the Senate Sub-Committee on terrorism, headed by Senator Thurston Smith.”

“You're not recruiting me, then?”

“Oh yes we are. Do you know about a call a while back from Senator Standing Bear Lindstrom to my boss, Senator Smith?”

“No.”

“Your girlfriend, Snowfeather, is into something that has caused her father a lot of concern.”

“Oh. You probably mean those Sisters people.”

“Who?”

“The Women's League for Earth's Restoration—the Gaia people, I should say.”

Wang nodded. “I'd worry, too, if I were you. Your main concern should be to protect Snowfeather from these fanatics, Vincent. Now we would like you to do something for us. And we have an offer to make in exchange.”

“Offer?”

“Nothing you don't deserve on your own. You are a rising star, Vincent. I used to work in the Environmental Section of Justice. There are a lot of dedicated lawyers in Justice working to save the environment. There is a job for you there after you pass the Bar.”

“I'm listening.”

“Any cause can be ruined by extremists. Don't you agree?”

“Absolutely.”

“I want to stress, we're
not
anti-environment, here.”

“Okay.”

“You can be uniquely helpful in gathering certain information about this Gaia group. I promise your name will never be used.” Vincent frowned at that. “And this means a job in Washington, beginning with a paid internship in the Environmental Section of Justice, and, depending on how you do, an excellent shot at a regular appointment.” Vince continued to frown. “You are with the Longworthy law firm right now? Vince nodded. “Trust me, before long, you will be looking for other work. Your grades are excellent. We can easily do this for you.”

“I am not willing to break any trust with Snowfeather.”

“I respect that.”

“I would have to tell her what I am doing for you.”

“That is completely up to you.”

“What makes you think I'm going to be able to find anything useful?”

“We have information about a document. Without a warrant, we can't go inside and examine it. Worse, we can't ask for a warrant without tipping off our targets. But you could do that without the involvement of the Committee or the government.”

“This is like the old Watergate break-in?”

“Yes and no.” Wang smiled.
The kid knows his history
. “Snowfeather has the keys to the Earth Planet bookstore and the Women's League offices. If you want to involve her, then you tell her what's happening, ask to borrow the keys and make copies. I know a trusted locksmith. No one will know. Then, in a few days—we'll tell you when—you will just go into that old office building after hours, take pictures and leave. A cinch. You won't disturb a thing. You won't take anything. This will be a straightforward intelligence gathering operation. And if it appears too risky, for any reason, even at the last minute, then we just don't want you to do it. That's it.”

“Suppose I don't want a job at Justice. Why should I do this instead of one of your own operatives?”

Wang paused. “Because you might find something about these people that would persuade Snowfeather to break off with this group. And I suspect that same information may make you reconsider a career with the Longworthy law firm.”

Finally Vince's frown faded. He nodded. “You think Longworthy is in with the Gaia crowd?”

“We are interested in seeing exactly what this document says and who signed it. It is something called
Blood Scroll
.”

——

The next night Vincent was in Snowfeather's room. His usual relaxed bravado had clouded over. “So I need those keys for an hour or less, to duplicate them.” He was holding Snowfeather's hand.

“Oh, Vincent,” she said, pulling away. “I'm sorry I ever called Dad.”

“Why?”

“I was doing just fine working around these loonies and getting something done. Then I call Dad for advice and now the Smith committee people try to turn my boyfriend into a spy.”

“Have you considered that the Sisters really might be planning to kill people? That talk about collateral damage you overheard. What else could they mean by being antibodies? These people will get you in trouble, Snowfeather, I just know it.”

“Some of them are lunatics; some of them just pretend to humor the lunatics; and the rest of them are well meaning people like you and me, Vince. They're probably engaged in political action, a PR project. Whatever their secret rhetoric, they aren't idiots. Violence of any kind would be self-defeating. They're probably like those drawing room revolutionaries who wouldn't hurt a fly.”

“Snow, look at me.” Vincent put on his serious, cop face. “When you called your Dad, did you think they were dangerous: yes or no?”

Snowfeather smiled slightly. “Yes.” Then she stood and started pacing. “Okay. I never should have gone as far as that weird initiation. I had no frigging idea, Vincent. But…” Snowfeather clenched her hands into fists and pressed them to her forehead. There was a long pause. Vince reached out to touch her. She sighed, gently shaking off Vincent's arm. “This is how it is. I believe I'm doing something really important. And I really don't want to jeopardize my relationship with them, because the cause is something worthwhile.”

Vincent held her lightly by the shoulders and looked her directly in the eyes. “You
are
doing something really important. I saw you on national television. You don't need them. They need you. You are a leader in your own right.”

Snowfeather resumed pacing.

“Please call your Dad,” Vince said.

“‘This is your decision, Princess,'” she said, imitating Gabriel's baritone. “That's what he says these days.”

“Can I say anything to convince you?”

Snowfeather's expression softened. “You know what? I want to have it both ways.” Vince faced her, looking at her intently. Snowfeather rolled her eyes, then reached in her jeans and pulled a set of keys, gripping them fiercely. “Vincent Marconi, if you are caught trespassing—”

“I'll get a slap on the wrist. Don't worry, Morris and Julie Marconi didn't raise a dumb kid.” Vincent gave her his lopsided smile that she found irresistible. “I'm not planning to get caught by them. But what if it did happen? Big deal, they dump you. You are a natural leader. You don't need these kooks.”

Another long pause. Snowfeather's eyes were searching his face. “But why
you
? A job with Justice can't be that important?”

“Hey, this is Vince here. I don't even know what job I'll want to take after graduation. Actually, I was thinking this is something I could do for you. People like these can ruin an entire movement. Ruin
you
.”

She sighed. “You win, counselor. Look, I only have two keys, the outside door and their main office. No telling what opens that other door down the hall where I overheard that ritual.” Her lips were pursed. She placed the keys in his hand and closed it. “Now
you
be careful or I'll be mad.”

“Promise,” Vincent said, kissing her softly. “I'll be back in an hour with your keys.”

Louise Berker was behind her desk in Environmental Opinion Associates, and Rex Longworthy was sitting uncomfortably in the guest chair.

“We've been at this tipping point much too long, Rex, don't you agree?” she said.

“Of course, Louise. But a precipitating event is inevitable, don't you agree?”

“Inevitability is not my point. We need to be poised to exploit any event. Quickly. All the work to recruit that girl, Snowfeather, to bring the media along. The Treaty needs to be ratified. Soon or not at all. We must act while the momentum is with us.”

Rex frowned. “What are you suggesting?”

“Have you thought about the ecological consequences from a major spill in the Panama Canal?”

Rex smiled. “That would do it, all right. Close to home. Especially if it involved nuclear waste. It would be a PR godsend.”

“Better still if we could predict something of that magnitude.”

“Obviously. The demonstrations could be planned in advance. The media alerted. What are you suggesting?”

“Consider it done, Rex.”

He paused. “I see. The G-A-N could pull this off?”

Berker just put a single finger on her lips and smiled.

——

Two hours later, a staff employee of the Smith Sub-Committee on Domestic Terrorism was assigned to review the following conversation captured through routine monitoring of suspected terrorist cells. But the staffer failed, through geographical ignorance, to notice that the discussion related to the Pacific and Atlantic side locks in the Panama Canal, and that control of the “mule operators” meant operational control of the lock-side towing trains responsible to take ships through them. Missing also was the context: the nearly simultaneous arrival on opposite sides of the Panama Canal lock system of two separate shipments of large amounts of very high level nuclear waste. As a result, the intercept was stacked for routine analysis, a process that would take another two weeks.

“You are confident that the mule operators are under control.”

“Absolutely. The Gatun locks, the Pedro Miguel locks, and the Miraflores locks. We have the capability to affect simultaneous transits, from the East, and from the West.”

“So it doesn't happen in Gatun Lake?”

“Not optimum. Damage could be contained. Much better in the locks on either side. More environmental impact, you see.”

“You know this better than I do.”

“Thank you. So, to what do I owe the honor of this call?”

“The time is right.”

“I hoped you might call now. There are two shipments that can be simultaneously—”

“Dealt with.”

“Exactly. So do we have the authorization?”

“You do.”

“Excellent.”

——

Vincent was nervous, but determined. It was 3:40 A.M. and the Pioneer Square district was nearly deserted, the nearest street lamp cloaked in fog. Carrying the copied keys, he walked past a series of dark storefronts. He paused before a window, squinting inside at the books arrayed on a small display. To the right, lurking in a pool of blackness, Vince found the recessed doorway by feel. Holding his breath, he slipped a key into the lock and turned.

A few minutes later, he was in the stairway behind the Earth Planet Bookstore.

The agent had warned him during his last briefing that, if caught, Vincent was on his own, that nothing would be linked back to the Smith Sub Committee.

“No problem,” Vince had said. “I doubt they would call the cops.”

The agent had looked at him coldly. “You will be better off if they do.”

Vince had shrugged off the warning, after all he was the son of third generation cops. His tiny flashlight cast a fleeting puddle of light on the worn linoleum stairs that danced along the worn and stained carpet of the hallway.
No problem here
, Vince thought. The building's ventilation and heating system had been turned off. The air was cold, and heavy with mold spores.

Vincent stopped, listening to the sound of his own breathing. A siren sounded, wailing faintly in the distance. He moved on slowly, his sneakers almost soundless on the rug.

The door Snowfeather had described was closed. Vincent paused, turning off his light. There was no sound and no light within. He clicked his tiny flashlight on again. Cautiously, Vincent tried the handle.

Locked. What did you expect?

His copy of Snowfeather's key wouldn't move the tumbler at all.
Checkmate. Nice, try Marconi. Enough spy stuff. Time to go home.
But he paused, studying the lock in the glow of his pocket light.

Okay
, he thought,
at least
the key fits, so it's the right blank. And the other key did work outside. Probably a copy of a copy of a copy. One more try.

Vincent pulled the key toward him; then turned it hard. The tumbler moved slightly. Encouraged, he pushed in, then pulled again and twisted. The tumbler turned smoothly.

You're in, Marconi!
The door opened into the room, releasing a smell that hit him like the stench from a freshly opened crypt. Vincent held his nose, stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The air was cloying, as if he had entered a fetid swamp after half the inhabitants had died. His tiny light darted around the room, catching glimpses of hanging leaves, twisted vines, and dripping water. The room was so large that the spot from the flashlight barely reached the other side. In the center of the room, seven stumps were arranged in a circle around a crude altar.

Stepping cautiously toward the stumps, he could feel the slippery surface give way slightly as he approached. Then something wet moved under his foot. “Damn,” he whispered involuntarily. He pointed the flashlight downward. Something white slithered away into the blackness. Vincent shuddered, and fumbled in his backpack for the larger flashlight. After a frustrating minute, he gave up.

The altar was in the exact center of the stump circle. Fashioned from a gnarled tree, it held a small scroll, fastened to the side with crudely carved wooden fingers. He climbed over a stump and leaned forward, shining the tiny lamp against the parchment.

This must be it.

Vincent fished out the digital camera from his backpack.
Need to get all the words and the signatures.
Ornate block letters, painstakingly inscribed in dried blood, spelled out a manifesto:

“Gaia the wounded, Gaia the threatened, Gaia the injured, Gaia the infected. We, your antibodies, pledge our very lives to the eradication of man, the infestation.
Homo Ecophagus
.

“Signed in our blood this first day of your retribution.

“Tan, Gloris, K, D, E, F.

“From Gaia to Gaia.

“Death to all humankind.”

Something touched his foot. Vincent kicked at it, swallowing a curse. He worked with frantic speed, taking three pictures, as rapidly as his fingers would function. The flash produced afterimages that glowed in the darkness. “Death to all humankind,” danced in negative relief while he stood rooted to the spot, waiting for his night vision to reestablish itself. His breath came in rapid, short gasps.

Don't panic now.

When his eyes had finally readjusted, Vincent examined the glowing digital images.
Excellent
. What were the agent's instructions? He fumbled, trying to connect the camera's output to the satellite phone he had been given.
Damn
, he thought
. I need light. I'll need to take this outside.

“Don't wait until you get out,” the agent had cautioned. “This could be your insurance.”

“Fine for you to say!” he whispered to himself, disconnecting the camera and slipping it into his backpack. “I can't see in here!”

What was that?
Vincent held his breath, listening for the sound. The back of his neck was tingling alarm.

“Having a good time?”

Jesus
! He jumped a full foot.

It was a harsh female voice. Vincent was struck dumb. With a series of distinct clicks, three separate flashlights glared in his eyes. He squinted, clutching his backpack. “Come here,” the voice said.

For a brief moment, Vincent imagined himself reconnecting the camera, standing defiantly in the flashlights, suppressing the impulse to run, waiting as the whisper of data transfer invaded the silence. But Vincent's heart was thumping wildly and his hands were shaking uncontrollably.

Too late,
he thought. Numbly, Vincent stared into the flashlights.
Too fucking late.